


The Partnership

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confession, Danger, Explicit Sexual Content, Jealousy, Love, M/M, Professional Jealousy, Undercover Case, Worry, strange behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 17:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11972493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: From the start, Sherlock solved cases, and John helped. And then something changed.





	1. A Two Man Case

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> We aim to update once a month. All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got quite a few stories, and we invite you to get lost in them. **To keep up with our new stories, we hope you'll subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. If you've got any story ideas, you can leave them in the comments.
> 
> Thanks for reading and for being a great community!

Sherlock was at his desk, trying to focus on the article he was struggling to read. It wasn’t very interesting, but it could be useful at some point and he had nothing else to work on at the moment. However, he’d already forgotten what he’d just read, despite having read the same paragraph four times. He was starting to get frustrated and needed someone to blame. He lifted his head and saw John across the room. John would do.

“Do you have to look at your computer so loudly?” he asked angrily.

John glanced up at Sherlock and raised his brows. Still holding his gaze, John started clacking the keys loudly. Sherlock was frustrated from the lack of a case, but John was not going to be the sounding board for that frustration. At the very least he would retaliate -- that would make things interesting for a bit. 

“I’m actually working, John, unlike you,” Sherlock said. “Because I care about our business. If you appreciate this flat, I’d expect you to be helping me rather than hindering me.”

"We just worked a case, Sherlock. Unlike you, some people need actual rest and relaxation."

“Is that what you’re doing over there -- resting and relaxing?”

"Yes," John said. "I'm reading articles."

“And you enjoy reading articles with a dry mouth?” Sherlock asked. “Because I don’t.”

"I'm not making tea again, Sherlock. You've had three cups."

“John!” Sherlock said. “I am trying to work! You just said you’re resting, but I’m working.”

"You already have trouble sleeping. I'm not giving you any more caffeine." John went back to his computer and even shifted to try to hide Sherlock from view.

“Fine,” Sherlock said. He stood up. “I’m going out then. You can rest and relax all you want on your own.”

John rolled his eyes and lifted the computer again, but then his phone rang. "Greg, thank God. What's going on?" John asked. 

"There's a new case--"

"Let me get Sherlock," John said.

"No, John. Well, yes, of course, but actually I need you."

"Me?" John said, looking away from Sherlock now.

Sherlock glanced over, but John was turned away so he slipped his coat over his shoulder and headed out.

John listened while Greg explained what was happening and why he needed John. "I hate to ask you to do it -- I know it could be dangerous, but you can handle yourself."

"I don't mind. I just need to gain her trust? Have her tell me who the boss is?"

"We know, well, we think it's her boyfriend. I don't know what her level of involvement is, but this drug . . . it’s new and it's awful stuff."

"Okay. I'll get a hold of Sherlock and we’ll come down."

Greg agreed, mentioning he needed Sherlock to analyse the drug as well. They hung up and John rang Sherlock.

“Is the tea ready?” Sherlock asked when he answered the phone. 

"No. We have a case, Greg called."

“I’m on my way home,” Sherlock said. He lit a cigarette and rushed back to the flat. “Thank god,” he said, coming in. “What do I need to know?”

"It's drugs, import or manufacture, they don’t know yet, but they're trying to get the boss. We should go over to get all the details.”

“Come on then,” Sherlock said. He kept his coat and opened the door, waving his arm to encourage John to hurry.

John closed his laptop and grabbed his coat and moments later, they were in a taxi.

“Thank god we’ve got some work,” Sherlock said. “You were starting to drive me a bit mad, if I’m honest.”

"I was driving you mad?" John asked loudly. He took a deep breath. "No, I'm not getting into this with you. We've got work now."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stared out the window. “Wait a minute,” he said suddenly. “Why did he call you and not me?”

John kept looking out of his own window as he shrugged. Having faced Sherlock's annoyance the last week, he wasn't going to willingly take more. Greg could take this one. "Don't know."

Sherlock pulled out his phone and looked at it. He put it back in his pocket. He didn’t say anything until they pulled up. He gave the driver some money and then said to John, “Don’t be miserable -- we’ve got something to keep us busy.” He tried to give him a smile.

John smiled back and stuffed his hands into his pockets, walking with Sherlock inside and straight to Greg's office.

“Have you told him?” Greg asked.

Sherlock looked at John. “Told me what?” he asked. He sat down and turned his attention to Lestrade. “Is this a case or not?”

“Yes, it is,” Greg said. “It’s quite a big drugs case.”

Sherlock felt himself tense slightly, and he avoided John’s eyes.

“We don’t know exactly what it is,” Greg continued. “You won’t either, Mister Expert. But we need you to find out.”

“Fine,” Sherlock said, feeling relieved. “Have you got some?”

Lestrade coughed and said, “Not yet . . . we’ve got the blood of a dead man, though, so you can start there.”

“Fine,” Sherlock said again and stood up. He looked at John and said, “Let’s go.”

John shook his head. “There’s more,” he said.

“More what?” Sherlock said. He tensed again.

"I need John for a different part of the case, sort of undercover," Greg said. 

Sherlock shot John a look and then turned his attention to Lestrade. “I don’t understand -- is this a joke?” he asked. “I am the detective. He is just . . . my blogger.” He didn’t mean for it to sound quite like that, but it was the truth.

John gave a heated look at Sherlock, the annoyance from earlier building. "You don't have the skills necessary," he said.

Greg stood up for his desk. “Everyone relax,” he said. “Sherlock, it's more of a personal angle that I need John for. There’s a woman involved. Everyone’s life would be so much easier if she’d talk . . . and John’s better at that kind of thing.”  
   
“At what?”  
   
"At . . . you know, being nice, showing interest . . ." Greg said.  
   
“You mean flirting?” Sherlock said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea . . .”  
   
“And why’s that?” Greg asked.  
   
“I’ve seen John attempt to flirt -- he can barely get women’s phone numbers, let alone any criminal confessions,” he said. “Flirting is not what he needs to do . . . he needs to build trust.” He glanced over at John. “Which is something he can do,” he admitted. He turned back to Lestrade. “Will it be dangerous?”  
   
"Possibly -- but John can handle it.”  
   
“I know he can,” Sherlock said. He moved toward the door. “All right -- I’m off to see Molly. John . . . don’t do anything stupid. And don’t be out late.”  
   
John raised his hand in a wave. Greg have him some more information about the case, the woman, and her habits. He studied a photo of her and headed out to get started. This was going to be interesting.


	2. Progress

John made his way to the bookshop where the notes said the woman works, but by a stroke of luck he spotted her going into a cafe a few streets away. He went inside without a real plan. He got in line a couple people behind her. He noticed when she walked up to the counter they had her order ready -- she must come here a lot. He should add that to the notes. He ordered a tea for himself and followed her out, walking a short distance behind her. He didn't know what he was hoping for in the middle of the day. She went straight to the bookshop, waved at the girl in the front and disappeared into the back. John went inside and browsed the shelves, making his way around slowly, but she never came back out again. Next time he would intercept her at the cafe, since that seemed to be her usual routine. He made a mental note of the time, back tracking to when she was at the coffee shop so he knew what time to get started tomorrow. 

At the morgue, Molly had set aside the things Sherlock would need. He decided he wanted to look at the blood first, getting her assurance he’d be able to see the body when he came back tomorrow. She left him alone to work, coming in once or twice to bring him tea and answer any questions he had. Her first interruption only brought a small nod of his head as acknowledgement, but by the time she returned, he did have questions. She thoroughly answered them and watched as he scribbled things down. She left him alone again.

He took advantage of the morgue’s equipment for as long as he could, but when Molly came in to say she was leaving, he packed up the information he’d gathered and said he’d go with her. He walked her to her door and then made his way back to Baker Street, dragging multiple books from his shelf to begin researching what he’d found.

On the way back, John picked up dinner. He let himself inside the flat. "Sherlock?"

“In the kitchen,” Sherlock called. He moved over and put the kettle on. “Are you alone?”

"Obviously,” John said. “I brought dinner. Chinese, your favourite.”

“Chinese is not my favourite,” Sherlock said.

“I thought it was. What’s your favourite then?”

“I don’t have a favourite,” Sherlock said. “Have you ever met me?”

“Shut up,” John said with a laugh. “Let’s eat.”

Sherlock pulled out two plates from the cupboard. “Well, have you cracked the case -- used your brilliant charm to seduce a confession?” he asked.

"Please don't start with me again," John said tiredly.

Sherlock handed John a mug. “Fine, sorry,” he mumbled. “But we’re supposed to be working on this case together, you know, so I do need to know what you’ve found out.”

"Nothing yet -- I saw her but we didn’t talk.”

Sherlock sat down and scooped a bit of food out onto his plate and then passed the container to John. “Thanks for dinner, by the way,” he added.

"Of course. Did you find anything today?" John asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, eager to talk through his initial findings. It always helped talking to John -- he often asked good questions, but even when he sat silently, the process of explaining things to him sometimes helped Sherlock to see a new perspective. He detailed to John what was unusual about the blood he’d looked at -- he told him about a couple theories, but admitted at this point he still didn’t really know exactly what they were dealing with.

John ate as he listened to Sherlock. "Like we didn't have enough to deal with, now this guy is out there making new stuff," he said.

“Possibly,” Sherlock said. “He may not have been the first one -- just the first one in Britain. I know some people who are familiar with . . . things elsewhere.” He ate a few bites of his food. “Looks like I’m winning,” he said with a grin.

"It's not a contest," John said, but he was smiling too.

“Of course not,” Sherlock said. “We’re on the same team . . . partners.” He put his fork down. “Want to talk about strategy or is it all right if I go back to work?”

"You can go back to work."

Sherlock stood up quickly and then said, “I’ll do the washing up later.” He moved into the other room and flopped onto the sofa.

John finished eating, put away the leftovers, and then sat with his computer to start taking notes. He started with what Sherlock told him before he forgot it all, and then devised his own plan about trying to find the girlfriend tomorrow.

Sherlock lay on the sofa thinking. He recalled every bad thing he’d seen drugs do to a body -- whether it was in the morgue or in a house he’d found himself waking up in many years ago. He hypothesized about what he might see on the corpse tomorrow. Eventually he stood up. That was enough work for tonight. He needed to be at his best in the morning. “I’m going to go lie down on my bed and read,” he told John. “I don’t know if I’ll come back out before morning.”

"That's fine. I'll see you tomorrow," John said. 

Sherlock disappeared into his room. He stripped himself of his clothes and lay down on the bed, but didn’t get out a book. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about the case or about drugs or about John’s special assignment.

John went to bed not long after Sherlock, making sure all of the food was put away before he went up. In the morning, he came down dressed to go out.

Sherlock emerged from his room and John was getting ready to go. “I’m going back to the morgue,” he said. “Are you going to try to get another date then? You look all . . . nice.”

"We'll see what happens," he smiled. "I'll text you."

Sherlock nodded goodbye and then jumped into the shower.

John left the flat and headed back to the cafe. When he walked in, she was there, standing in line. John hurried behind her. "Nice day," he told her.

She turned and smiled but then faced forward again. 

He licked his lips and tried again. "Do you come here a lot? Maybe you can recommend something good?"

She turned back again. "I don't know. I like black coffee and they have a good brew. I’m sure their tea is just as good."

John smiled. "Thanks -- I’m not into anything fancy. Black coffee’s perfect for reading."

"What are you reading?" 

"Just going to head to the shop around the corner and see what I can find.”

"Oh, I work there."

John smiled. "You're heading there now? Do you mind walking with me?"

She looked him up and down. "No, I suppose not."

They walked to the shop together and chatted -- John trying to get her to recommend books. She seemed to be smiling for most of the conversation. John didn't ask about a boyfriend, but he noticed she didn't mention one either. They parted ways when she went in a back door, but John felt good about their talk. 

At the morgue Sherlock was taking down meticulous notes since Molly had banned him from taking the photos he wanted. He’d seen things he hadn’t expected to see and had been overly excited by that. He loved a challenge. He worked for a while in the library and then walked around thinking. He realised he was craving a cigarette so he stopped into the news agents. Somehow it felt like he’d earned a treat.

By the time Sherlock got back to the flat, the nicotine had made him pleasantly dizzy. He poured himself a cup of tea, but instead of getting straight to work, he sat down on his chair and just enjoyed the feeling.

He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. He dreamt he was in a club. He looked over and saw the alive version of the corpse he’d been staring at this morning. The image woke him from his sleep and he saw that he’s spilled his tea. He got up to clean up and turned on the kettle. He wondered if John’d be home soon; then he heard footsteps on the stairs. He pulled two mugs from the cupboard.

"Sherlock?" John called as he walked into the room.

“What?” Sherlock asked, as he was pouring the tea. He hoped John didn’t mention the smell of cigarettes -- he knew John didn’t like them, but Sherlock was a grown man after all.

"Just checking if you were back. Did you have a good day?"

“I did,” Sherlock said. “I’ll have it sorted by tomorrow. It’s a ridiculous drug -- there’s no way any high is worth what it will do.” He looked over. “Have you found out who the dealer is?”

"Well, we know who it is. We just need proof. I had a good time with his girlfriend. Tomorrow should be better." 

Sherlock looked over. “Good time?” he asked. “What does that mean?”

"We got coffee and then I walked her to work. We talked a lot -- I think she’s keen."

“You do remember you’re working, right?” Sherlock asked. “You’re not actually dating her, you know.”

"Yes, Sherlock, I am well aware of that."

“Fine,” Sherlock said. “Look, I’ve got a little more I want to work on tonight, but then I can explain the details if you want to work on notes for the blog.”

"Okay. I'm going to have dinner while you do that," he said.

Sherlock got up and moved over to his desk, getting to work. Soon enough, he tuned out the sound of John in the kitchen and dug into the research. Eventually he pushed his chair back from the desk. “Enough for tonight,” he said. “Excellent.”

"I'm ready for notes," John said. He was now at his laptop, having written up his own.

Sherlock got up and put on the kettle, stretching a bit as he waited for it to boil. “Tea?” he asked.

John shook his head.

Sherlock brought his mug over and starting talking John through all he’d found out -- starting first with the chemicals he could isolate in the blood and then the physical symptoms he’d expected to find in the body and those he had not expected. He was still waiting to hear from his contacts abroad, but he was close to narrowing down precisely what it was which meant the final step was how it was made.

“Of course, if you could manage to be just a bit more lovely, we might just get her to tell us how they do it,” he joked as he watched John typing away furiously.

"All we need is one word, you'll see," he said.

“I have faith in you, John, I do. But . . .” Sherlock’s voice trailed off.

"But what?"

Sherlock paused and then said, “Are you just doing this to have something to hold over me? Some way for you and Lestrade to subtly point out my flaws, despite the fact that I care nothing about my inability to make strung out women trust me? Is that why you’re doing this? Because we shouldn’t compete -- I know I joked about it yesterday -- but if there’s some kind of tension here, you should probably just say it.”

"Sherlock, all I'm doing is working the case and using my skills to do it. You want me to stop? That's fine. But if I stop then I stop across the board -- you can work the case alone."

“Don’t be like that,” Sherlock said. “I was just checking -- we’re partners, right? It’s just a change, isn’t it?” He stood up and put the kettle back on. “I mean . . . you don’t think things seem different already?”

"I don't feel like it's different. We're still working together," he said.

“Are we though?” Sherlock said from the kitchen. “You didn’t seem all that interested in my discoveries . . .”

"What? When wasn't I?" John asked.

“Just now . . .” Sherlock said. “You were just staring down, taking notes.”

"Sherlock, I always take notes," he said.

“I know but . . .” Sherlock started. “It doesn’t matter. Tell me a bit about your strategy with this woman -- are you going for trusted friend or will there be flirting involved? And before you refuse to answer, I know this isn’t one of your dates so I promise I won’t be sarcastic -- which I still reserve the right to do when you do go on a real date.”

"Whatever it takes, you know? We'll see how things move along."

“Have you told her much about yourself? What’s your cover?”

“Nothing,” John said. “She knows nothing about me. She has a boyfriend . . . if she’s interested, it’s not going to be for my interesting backstory.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just -- I just mean you don’t have to worry about me revealing anything. I know how to do this. If specifics come up, and I’m not sure they will, I’ll have a story.”

Sherlock looked over at him. He seemed confident, and Sherlock knew he should be as well. “Well, let me know if you need me to help -- I’m quite good at creating personas,” he said. “I mean, I created this whole Sherlock Holmes the detective thing and you fell for it.” He gave him a cheeky smile.

“Right,” John said sarcastically. “I’m going to get these notes organised.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” Sherlock said. “I want to start early in the morning. Night then.” He stopped into the bathroom and then disappeared into his room.

John watched him go and then turned back to his typing.


	3. Sherlock Solves His Case

In the morning, Sherlock was up, showered, and out of the flat early. He had a few tests he wanted to do in the lab and then he was hoping he’d be able to secure the ingredients and test a few recipes. He would be busy and focused and those were the days he loved best.

By afternoon, he’d spent a few hours going to different shops to retrieve the ingredients he needed without rousing anyone’s suspicion. And to be doubly careful, he’d sent Lestrade a message to let him know he was going to attempt to recreate the drug. Lestrade allowed it only if Molly were present and willing to lock up whatever Sherlock created. It all seemed a bit dramatic, but Sherlock was so close now, he would not let dramatics interrupt his focus.

John skipped the cafe and went straight to the bookshop. He got there before her, hoping that would seem more natural. He was sitting in the corner armchair when she walked in and spotted him. 

"Back again?"

John smiled. "It’s a nice atmosphere in here. I've just bought this," he said, holding up the book in his hand. "I thought I would start it now. Hey, um, what's your name?"

"Amanda," she said with a smile. "Enjoy" she added, turning and going into the back again. John lifted the book and started to read, but spent most of his time looking around at the different customers coming in and out. A man came up to the counter carrying a book, and she disappeared into the back room. When she returned, she handed the book back to him and said, “Sorry -- we don’t have anything else by that author.” The man took the book and left.

John wondered if this was some kind of delivery system. Before he could think more about it, Amanda came out and sat in the chair beside him. They talked about small stuff -- how business was doing, how long she had worked there, and when she started asking questions about John's life, he kept his answers vague, leaning closer and touching her arm as he moved the conversation easily back to her. There was still no mention of a boyfriend, so John asked about a possible date. It forced her hand a bit, and he noticed that she hesitated a bit before saying they could plan something when she checked her schedule.

In the lab, Sherlock was grinning stupidly. He’d found it. He was sure of it. He made Molly come over to look -- she confirmed it and made a fuss over him. He shrugged off her reaction. He was more interested in telling John.

Molly started tidying up. “I’ll keep this stuff locked up in case it’s needed for the case or whatever,” she said. “It was amazing how you figured that all out.”

Sherlock filed the comment away without acknowledging it. “It should be wrapped up soon, I would guess,” he said. “I’ll let Lestrade know.” He rushed to put his things into his bag. “Thanks for your help,” he muttered as he headed out. He wanted to ring John immediately but didn’t want to risk blowing anything. He thought about stopping by Scotland Yard, but for some stupid reason, he wanted to tell John first. He wanted to hear John call him amazing, even though he’d noticed that word hadn’t crossed John’s lips yet on this case, despite Sherlock’s hard work. This made him wonder about why exactly Lestrade had done this, giving John a separate task. Was it just some kind of dig at Sherlock? He supposed it didn’t really matter. He headed home hoping John would be back soon.

John stayed for a while more, reading and watching, then stood to leave. He asked the girl at the desk to pass along his good bye before he left. He walked for some of the way, getting several blocks away before hailing a back to take him back to the flat.

“Where have you been?” Sherlock asked on John walked in. John’s not being home had annoyed him and he couldn’t really hide it, even though he remembered the lectures John had given him in the past about his tone of voice.  Surely as soon as he explained his success, John would be too amazed to be angry about Sherlock’s voice.

"I've been working, same as you," John said. “I think it’s going well. Honestly, I’m thinking by the end of the week, I’ll have enough to nail this guy.”

“What guy?” Sherlock asked and then stopped. All of a sudden he was hit a jolt of realisation: he was not going to be the one who solves this, John was. Because this case wasn’t about narrowing down ingredients or determining effects of a drug -- Sherlock had done those things, but in many ways, they were irrelevant. This case was about arresting a dealer. Which is what John was asked to work on and what John alone would do.

“Anyway,” John said. “What’d you find out today?”

 “Not much today really,” Sherlock said, moving to the kitchen. “You want tea?”

"Sure,” John said. “You went to the lab, right?"

Sherlock nodded without turning around. “I think I’ve isolated the ingredients,” he said more to the kettle than to John.

"That's great," John said.

“Right,” Sherlock said. He brought the tea over and sat down. “So you going out tonight?”

"I don't have plans," he said. "Do you?"

Sherlock didn’t say anything, assuming John would understand that as a no.

John waited. "Are we just keeping information to ourselves now? Are we back to competing?"

Sherlock looked over. “No, I won’t be going out tonight,” he said. “Why? Are you keeping information to yourself? Don’t do that, John. We work together, don’t forget.”

"You're the one keeping information. You won't tell me what happened at the lab."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said. He leaned forward and told John all the details -- about where he had to go, how he put things together, and the results. He explained the euphoric effects of the drug as well as the gory details about what it can do to a person’s mind and body, especially in extremely high doses. It wasn’t quite the same as if John had been there with him, but it was good to talk it through and things felt a little more normal again.

"That's great, Sherlock,” John said. “We're getting close.”

Great wasn’t the same as amazing, but it was enough for Sherlock. “We are,” he said. He fancied a cigarette but didn’t want John to get annoyed. “This couple . . .” he said, closing his eyes as he tilted his head back. “You’re not in any danger, are you?”

"I don't think so. I've not even seen the guy and she has been nice so far."

“Well,” Sherlock said, standing up and moving to the kitchen. “Just remember, she’s a criminal, John, and criminals don’t tend to be nice.”

"I remember, Sherlock. It’s going to be fine," he said. 

“All right, I just don’t want to lose my blogger,” Sherlock said. “Or your half of the rent,” he added with a laugh.

John raised his brows.

Instead of making another cup of tea, Sherlock turned and said to John. “Are you going to eat? You haven’t eaten anything since you got home.”

"Do we have leftovers still?" 

“No idea,” Sherlock replied. “I might go out for a quick walk -- want me to pick something up?”

"No, that's okay. I'll find something to make. Where are you off to?" He asked.

Sherlock slipped his coat on and felt his pocket for his cigarettes. “Just a short walk . . . to clear my head, you know . . . I won’t be gone long,” he said. “I can get Chinese if you call it in.”

"Okay. But I am really hungry now that you’ve mentioned food, so don't be long," he smiled. 

“Yes sir,” Sherlock said. He went downstairs and as soon as he hit the pavement, he lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and felt the smoke fill his lungs. He stood still smoking and then made his way to the Chinese, waiting outside and smoking another cigarette. When the food was ready, he headed back home, smoking one more. This one made him feel a bit nauseous but he didn’t mind.

John was still in the kitchen when Sherlock arrived. "You know I don't mind if you smoke by the open window," he offered.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sherlock said, even though he knew they both knew the purpose of the walk. “Here’s your food.”

"Thank you," he said, digging in right away.

Sherlock scooped a bit onto a plate and took it over to his desk. He read over his email and typed up all his notes and sent them to Lestrade.

_Precise formula located. Details attached. SH_

He ate a little food and then got a reply.

_All substances left in lab?_

Sherlock felt he shouldn’t dignify that with a response, but he did.

_Yes._

_Excellent. Any more progress with the woman?_

Sherlock crinkled his eyebrows for a moment, annoyed that Lestrade seemed to not care about his accomplishment.

_Ask John._

He closed up his computer and got up, dumping the rest of his food in the bin. “I think I’ll read it my room for a while,” he told John and then disappeared, shutting the door behind him.

"Oh, all right," John said. He watched Sherlock go, moving to the sofa himself and turning on the news for a bit. When he started dozing with his mug still in his hand, he forced himself to get up and go to bed.


	4. Info For John, Confusion For Sherlock

John headed out early, wanting to stop into speak to Lestrade a bit about his progress. Sherlock’s reactions to all this had been awkward and John wasn’t sure why.  
   
Sherlock woke up off and on through the night. At one point he noticed that it was beginning to get light out, so he gave up on sleeping and let himself get lost in his head. He saw a memory from that first day when he and John met in the lab, then an image of their running together through London, and flashes of other cases. They worked so well together. He hadn’t regretted a single moment of their partnership.

When he got up, Sherlock moved to put the kettle on. Suddenly he noticed how quiet it was in the flat. “John?” he asked in a soft voice, because he was pretty sure he was alone and saying John’s name was entirely unnecessary. He poured his tea and moved over to his desk. He opened his laptop but instead of checking his email, he found himself staring into the room, wondering what precisely John was doing.

There was a knock at the door. Sherlock instinctively said John’s name and then felt embarrassed. The door opened and Mrs Hudson come in. “You busy?” she asked.

“No,” he said grumpily, taking a sip of his tea which was now cold. How long had he been sitting there doing nothing? He stood up. “Do you need something?” he asked as he moved to the kitchen.

“No,” she said. “Just bored . . . I thought you two had a case.” 

“I did,” he said. “I mean, we do -- I just solved my part quickly, and now I too am bored.” He got two mugs from the cupboard.

“Where’s John?” she asked.

“Out failing to solve his part, I suppose,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, in a good partnership, each person plays to their own strengths,” he said. “In my partnership with John, I am obviously the clever one. The one who solves cases. However, John has apparently been promoted from blogger to undercover agent, simply because his strength is charm.”

“I have literally no idea what you’re talking about, Sherlock,” she said.

He turned around and handed her a cup of tea. “I don’t really know either,” he said and sat down with her.

“What have you done?” she asked. “You know you can be horrible -- have you been being horrible?”

“Of course not,” he said. 

“Have you had an argument?”

“I don’t think so,” Sherlock said. “He didn’t say we were fighting so I don’t think we are. It’s just . . . I think I’m angry at him.”

“Why?” she asked. “I can’t see John Watson being horrible -- what has he done?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said. Because he really didn’t. He looked up. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I was just checking my email -- I’m sure I’ll have a client to keep me busy while John’s off doing what he’s doing. I’m sure everything will return to normal soon.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I like John and it’s good that he’s here.”

“You mean because he remembers to pay the rent on time?”

“Well, yes, there’s that,” she said. “But it’s good for you too. You’re different since he’s been here.”

“I am not,” he said quickly. He took a sip of tea and then asked, “What do you mean?”

Mrs Hudson thought for a moment. “You’re less horrible, I think,’ she said cheekily.

“You think so?” he said with a laugh. “Well, you can get out of my flat right now if you just came up here to insult me.”

She laughed as well. “Ah, there’s the old horrible Sherlock! I’ve not missed him. Get John back here so the nicer one returns.” 

Sherlock wasn’t really sure what Mrs Hudson meant about John’s presence changing him. But he too was ready for John to come back to the flat to care that much.

After leaving Lestrade, John headed to the bookshop. He took his usual seat, unsure if she was here or not. 

A few minutes later, he heard her voice. “I was hoping you’d be here today,” she said.

"I haven’t finished the book yet," he added, holding up the book in his hand.

She smiled and touched his arm lightly. She done and they talked for a while. She was flirting more freely now, and John did his best to keep up. Eventually, she went back to work, and he stayed and read for a bit more. Then he picked up dinner and made his way up to the flat.

Sherlock was in his bedroom when he heard John come in. He wasn’t sure what he’d gone in there for or when, but he sat up from the bed and rubbed his face before coming out to the kitchen. “You’re back,” he said for no reason whatsoever.

"I'm back," John repeated.

“Have a productive day?” Sherlock asked. He realised he felt anxious all of a sudden and wasn’t sure why.

"Yeah," he said. "It was good. You?"

Sherlock realised he’d never actually got around to checking his email at all. “Yes, definitely,” he said. “Quite busy.” He had no idea why he was lying to John right now.

"Good. Are you making more progress?" John asked.

“Uh, yes,” Sherlock said. He tried to think for a moment -- he’d waited all day for John to come back and he didn’t want to spend the evening lying to him. “Do you have plans tonight?” he asked. “How about I take you out to dinner?”

"Oh. I was thinking of having an early night, actually. I have to go to the surgery tomorrow."

“Don’t you have to eat?” Sherlock said. “I mean . . . you usually eat.”

"Um, yeah. Yeah, I'm hungry. But do you mind just having something quick here?"

“That’s fine,” Sherlock said. He opened the fridge and looked for some leftovers. “There’s a bit of Chinese in here -- should I warm it up for you?”

"I can do it," John said, moving to the fridge as well.

“All right,” Sherlock said. He moved aside and stood there a bit stupidly. “What do you want to drink?”

"Hmm? I'll just have some water," he said.

Sherlock got John some water and set it on the table. He sat down and waited for John to join him.

John turned with the heated food and sat at the table with Sherlock. "Thanks."

“You’re welcome,” Sherlock said. He looked around the flat a little. “So . . . you’re back to work tomorrow?”

John nodded. "I can't skip it completely," he said. "But it'll be good, a small break. Just so things seem more normal."

“So you also think things have seemed strange recently?”

"What do you mean?" John asked.

Sherlock got up and moved over to the kettle. “I thought you said you thought things weren’t normal . . .” he said casually.

"Hmm? Oh, I just meant showing up every day at the bookstore might start looking odd so it's a good idea to skip a day."

“Right,” Sherlock said. He’d been talking about the flat, but John was talking about the woman. He poured his tea and came back to the table. “Let’s not talk about the case,” he said, hoping to change the subject but then realising how unusual a thing it was for him to want. “I just mean I don’t want to make you anxious, now that you’re going to back to being a doctor for a day.”

"I'm not anxious. We can talk about anything you want," he smiled.

Sherlock swallowed some tea. “There’s nothing we need to talk about,” he said quietly. “I’m just glad you’re back, I guess.”

John looked up at him as he ate. "What did you do today?" 

“Just read, worked, that sort of business,” Sherlock said, keeping it vague. “We might have a couple clients I’ll check out tomorrow while you’re at work.”

"Oh, multitasking cases, huh?" John smiled. "Anything interesting?"

“Not sure yet,” Sherlock said. “They can wait until tomorrow.” He wasn’t sure why it seemed like he was struggling to come up with something reasonable to say. It wasn’t normally like this. Normally he just had conversations with John, he didn’t have to plan how to have them, they just came naturally.

"I'm glad there's something ready so you won't get bored," he smiled.

“I’m not bored,” Sherlock said. He stood up and took his mug to the sink then turned around and looked out blankly at the flat. “I think I’ll turn on the television,” he said, moving into the sitting room and flopping onto the sofa.

John finished eating and moved to join him. "Do you mind?" he asked. He didn't know why he felt like he had to ask tonight.

“Not at all,” Sherlock said. In fact, he was really glad John had joined him, but for some reason, he felt unable to share that. He passed John the remote. “Choose whatever you want.”

John stared flipping through the channels, pausing on a crime show half way through a mystery.

Sherlock watched the show and was soon making complaints about the poor police procedures and the bad acting skills of all involved. After fifteen minutes, he said, “Have you figured out who did it yet?”

"I think so. I assume you have as well?" John asked.

“Obviously,” Sherlock said. “The nurse did it.”

John stuck out his tongue. "I know. I solved it too."

Sherlock threw a pillow at John. “God, you’re so gullible,” he said. “The nurse couldn’t have done it -- she’s left handed, didn’t you see her writing up that chart? Really, John, you need to pay better attention.”

"Oh shut up!" John laughed, throwing the pillow back.

“It was that guy, the dark haired one,” Sherlock explained. “He’s wearing a red shirt -- red means murderer, obviously. I mean that’s lesson one of being a detective . . .” He was smiling genuinely -- this is what he’d been missing all day.

"Oh yeah right, let me just jot that down so I don't forget such an important clue," John teased, miming writing a note. 

Sherlock settled down, pushing the pillow against the back of the sofa and shifting to get comfortable. A few minutes later he said, “Your drug dealer girlfriend doesn’t wear a red shirt, does she?”

"She doesn't wear anything," John grinned, waggling his eyebrows at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked over. “You’re not going to sleep with her, are you?” he asked.

"What? Of course not," John said. "It was a joke," he said. 

Sherlock stared at the television. “Hmm,” he said. “I thought you were the funny one . . .” He whipped the pillow back over at John.

John grabbed it and hit him back with the pillow, grinning wide.

When the show finished, Sherlock said, “See? I told you.” He stood up and moved to the kitchen. “You really should pay more attention to me. Tea?” he asked as he filled the kettle.

"No thanks,” John said, stretching his arms in a yawn. “I’m tired . . . don’t need the caffeine.”

“All right,” Sherlock said. He got out a mug for himself. “I’ve got nothing pressing tomorrow, so I suppose it doesn’t matter if I don’t sleep.”

John tilted his head. "Are you having trouble again?"

"No . . . I don't think," Sherlock said. "I just mean . . . since I don't have anything pressing that I need to be up for. Anyway, I guess all I'm saying is I'm going to have a cup of tea now." He turned to fill his mug.

"Okay. I just wanted to make sure," John said.

Sherlock watched John slowly getting ready to go up to bed. "If I do end up with a case, should I text you or something?" he called.

"Of course text me, I don't want to miss out," he grinned.

Sherlock took his tea over to his desk and opened his laptop. There really were a couple enquiries -- nothing too inspiring -- but he went ahead and responded, requesting meetings as soon as possible. He didn’t really fancy more days sitting at home without John.

John got ready for bed and set his alarm, wondering about Sherlock. This drugs case seemed to have thrown him off a bit so it would be good if a simple case turned up to keep him busy.

Sherlock had moved over to the sofa and flicked through the television channels with the sound down. He made one more cup of tea and watched the end of a film he thought he recognised but then realised he hadn’t. Then he turned off the television and went into his room, getting into bed with a book. This bored him quite quickly and he decided to just give up and go to sleep.

But a few hours later he was still lying there staring up at the ceiling. Was he having issues with sleep again? He hadn’t thought he was. It hadn’t seemed as bad since John got here -- obviously with cases he was awake all hours of the night, but on the few breaks they had between work, things had seemed to normalise a little. He still didn’t do well with boredom, but he actually liked just being around John who was willing to at least tolerate Sherlock, whether he was busy or not. He did like being around John -- this living together and working together arrangement was working well for Sherlock Holmes.

He thought about sending John a quick text to tell him -- as if this was some great revelation -- but he knew John was probably asleep by now. Because John had the surgery tomorrow and then the next day he’d be off working the drugs case. On his own. Sherlock didn’t like the thought of that one bit, but he also felt pretty sure this was something he shouldn’t tell John.


	5. Confusion for John, Confusion for Sherlock

When John woke up in the morning, he took a quick shower and went down to start breakfast for both of them, wondering if Sherlock found a case he liked. 

Sherlock was still awake, listening to John in the kitchen. He wasn’t sure if he should get up or not. When he heard the kettle boil, he rolled out of bed and stopped into the bathroom, splashing some cold water on his face.

“Morning,” he mumbled as he came into the kitchen.

"Morning," John said, glancing over at him. "You look . . . did you sleep at all?"

“Probably not,” Sherlock said, moving over to pour the tea. “I was thinking.”

"Oh. Did you find a case last night?"

“No,” Sherlock said, taking a drink. “Or maybe . . . we’ll see.”

"Well, if you have a chance, you should try to get some proper sleep," he said. 

“Don’t nag me,” Sherlock said. “Save it for your patients.” He took another sip. “You sleep okay?”

"I did, yeah." He gave Sherlock a small plate of breakfast. 

Sherlock looked at the plate but didn’t pick up a fork. “Perhaps I’m ill,” he said. “I never get ill. Do I seem ill? I thought you were a doctor, why didn’t you prevent this?”

"You're not ill. You're sleep deprived," he said. 

“Well, I’m definitely deprived,” Sherlock said. “I thought you were working today -- what time is it?”

"I have a few more minutes," he said. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

“No,” Sherlock said. “I was hoping you’d change your mind and decided to stay home.”

John smiled. "We need rent money," he said.

“Whatever,” Sherlock said. “There’s more to life than money, you know.”

"Yes, but it'll be hard to enjoy that stuff living on the street," John grinned. "I have to go. See you later."

“Fine,” Sherlock said. He looked over. “I’ll text you if there’s a case, yeah?” he called as John headed out. He sat and finished his tea. The flat seemed so quiet. He got up and opened a window, just to let some sounds in. Then he checked his email -- he received one response but instead of listing times to meet, it asked about prices. No, that’s not how it worked -- obviously Sherlock needed more details before he could estimate how much his time the case would need. He didn’t feel like dealing with that right now, so he shut his computer. 

He sat there for a few minutes when for some reason he found himself looking up at John’s bedroom door. And then he found himself standing outside it and then opening it. He took a step inside.

Since John moved in, Sherlock had not once searched through his things or invaded his privacy in any way. He’d considered it obviously, but at first, he was just trying hard to be a ‘normal’ flatmate and then eventually he realised he really respected John. He even thought of him as a friend, though he wasn’t sure he actually ever had used the word.

He moved over and sat down on the foot of John’s bed. He wasn’t going to invade John’s privacy now, not really. He just felt like sitting here for some reason. There was no harm in it. It just felt nicer being here than all alone out in the sitting room.

There were patients waiting when John walked into the office so he got started right away, seeing a steady stream before his lunch break. While he was out getting something to eat, he thought about the case and how he needed to step it up a bit, force it to move forward. Sherlock was done with his part of things, and John wanted to catch up and end it. 

He went back to work trying to make a plan in the back of his mind as he saw the rest of his patients. When he left he texted Sherlock about picking up dinner, rerouted his way home and stopped by the bookshop. He made a bold move and asked her out to dinner. She still hadn't mentioned a boyfriend and even though she hesitated slightly, she did agree to go. John left and headed back to the flat, feeling like he was finally making progress. 

Sherlock sat up straight, not quite sure where he was. Then he realised what had happened: he’d fallen asleep on John’s bed. He stared up at the ceiling, the ceiling John looked at every night. Theoretically it seemed an odd thing to do -- take a nap in John’s bed. However, it actually didn’t feel strange at all. It felt quite nice. Sherlock was pretty sure it was likely he’d do it again.

He turned his head and saw the clock. He’d slept for hours. He got up and went downstairs to take a shower and try to at least look like he’d actually done something of value today.

John came in with Thai, looking around the flat. "Sherlock?"

“In here,” Sherlock called from his bedroom. 

"I brought dinner," he called back.

Sherlock emerged from his room, closing the door behind him. “I’m not hungry,” he said, turning the kettle on. “But I’ll sit with you while you eat.”

"Did you sleep? You look a little better," he said.

Sherlock didn’t answer right away. “I did some work,” he finally said.

"Oh. You never texted for a case," John teased.

“It wasn’t a case -- I’m still waiting on them,” Sherlock said. “I was just . . . trying to solve something else.” He took a sip of tea. “How was your day? Save anyone from a stuffed up nose?”

"Twelve, actually," he said. "Then a lot of check ups and other stuff."

“Well, you must be very proud,” Sherlock said. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I don't have anything planned tonight,” John said. “However, speaking of plans, I'm taking our suspect to dinner tomorrow."

“What?” Sherlock asked. “When did this happen? I thought you were at the surgery all day.”

"I stopped by there after work," John said. "I just want to move things along."

Sherlock got up and moved over to the fridge, opening it for no reason whatsoever. “You couldn’t even stay away from her for one day . . .” he mumbled under his breath.

"What?" John asked, leaning closer.

“You’re not at the surgery tomorrow then?” Sherlock asked. “I used to know your schedule, but I don’t seem to know what’s going. Did you tell me you were doing work on the case after the surgery today? I don’t remember your telling me.”

John sighed and then asked, “What’s going on, Sherlock?” 

“Nothing,” Sherlock said. “And can I just clarify -- the rest of the evening . . . perhaps you should remind me again of your plans so I’m sure.”

"Tonight or tomorrow?" John asked.

“God, John, tonight -- all I’m trying to find out is if you are staying home with me tonight!” The words didn’t sound quite right coming out of Sherlock’s mouth, but it was precisely the information he was after.

John looked over at him, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process it. "Why are you shouting at me? Do we have plans I didn't know about?" 

“No, we didn’t have plans,” Sherlock said. “I’m just . . . I just feel off.” He moved back to the table. “Sorry . . .”

“I’m just confused, I guess,” John admitted.

“Maybe we could watch a film or something tonight?”

"Okay. Let me just finish dinner and we’ll see how I feel."

“Your food all right?” Sherlock said. “Maybe we could go out tomorrow -- if you’re back in time, I mean. If not, the next day. Or whenever.”

John glanced over. “Maybe the next day,” he said.

“All right,” Sherlock said. “Yes, that sounds good.” He got up and put his mug in the sink and then moved into the sitting room, clicking on the television, but then decided he’d like a glass of wine instead. He returned to the kitchen as John was finishing eating. “Maybe the wine will help me sleep,” he offered as an excuse as he pulled a bottle from the cupboard.

"That's not a good habit to start," John said. 

“One glass is not a habit, John,” Sherlock said. “Does that mean you don’t want one?”

"No thanks. I'm already sleepy," he said. He got up and took care of the food and then headed for his bedroom.

Sherlock was already back on the sofa. “What film do you want to watch -- your pick. Anything is fine with me,” Sherlock called.

John paused and turned back to Sherlock. He watched Sherlock shifting on the sofa and felt a pang of . . . something. Sherlock had been acting odd lately, and his outburst before was still nagging at John. He moved back to the sofa and sat with him. "Let's see what's on," he said, flipping through the channels. 

“Good,” Sherlock said. “Whatever you want,” he repeated, entirely unnecessarily.

John nodded, flipping through until he found one of the earlier Star Wars movies. "How about this?"

“Good,” Sherlock said. He leaned back a little and suddenly felt quite relaxed. It seemed normal again and it felt good.

John nodded as he watched the telly. He had an urge to reach over and pat Sherlock's hand or leg, just to reassure him, but John didn't know for what. He squeezed his hand shut and kept it to himself as they watched.

The film immediately bored Sherlock, but he realised this was the most comfortable he’d felt in the last day or two. He got up after a while and put his wine glass in the sink, making some tea instead. “I’ll do the washing up in the morning,” he said when he returned.

"Okay, thanks," John said. He relaxed back as the movie played, dozing lightly but fighting to stay up so Sherlock wouldn't notice.

Sherlock sipped his tea as he stared at the screen. As the film was coming to an end, he looked over at John whose eyes were closed. It was clear he was asleep. For some reason, Sherlock smiled -- there was something quite nice about the sight of a totally relaxed John Watson. He finished his tea off, and then said softly, “John? It’s time to go to bed, I think” as he reached over and touched his arm.

John snapped his eyes open. "Sorry, I was watching," he said immediately.

“You should go to bed -- you worked two jobs today, right?” Sherlock asked. He turned off the television. “You’re obviously tired.”

"You too," John murmured. He yawned and stretched. "If you have trouble sleeping let me know, okay?" He stood up and passed by Sherlock, ruffling his hair without thinking.

“Right,” Sherlock said. He was certain he would struggle to sleep, but he was also certain he wouldn’t bother John with that. “Good night then.”

He went over to his desk. Still no email from that client. He deleted the original email. He read the news and got lost online for a bit and then closed his laptop. He moved to the sink and washed up the dishes and then went into his room, lying down on his bed and trying not to think about anything.


	6. Action For John, Anxiety For Sherlock

In the morning John showered and went down to make breakfast, opting for coffee instead of tea while he read the paper. After eating and enjoying his coffee, Sherlock hadn’t yet appeared so John left a note that he would see Sherlock later and he left to start his day.

Sherlock’s attempt to think of nothing led to hours of his revisiting memories, most of which seemed utterly irrelevant at the moment -- riding a horse when he was five, needing stitches when he was ten, his first class at uni, a trip to the dentist. He ended up lost in thoughts, which was precisely the opposite of his plan. Eventually, though, it did exhaust him and he fell into a deep sleep.

So deep apparently that he’d not heard John leave. When Sherlock emerged from his bedroom to make a cup of tea, he read John’s note. This did not feel good at all -- he’d wanted to speak to John and get a little more clarity on his plan for this so-called date with the woman. He grabbed his phone and called Lestrade.

“Sherlock,” Lestrade said. “Any news from John?”

“I have some news about John,” Sherlock said. “Did you know he’s got some kind of date with this woman tonight?”

“Yes, obviously,” Lestrade said. “We’ve got all the info -- has he changed the plan?”

Sherlock’s head felt a bit unclear. Why was John giving Lestrade all these specifics but keeping things vague for Sherlock? “No,” he mumbled. “I’m just concerned about this whole strategy.”

“Why?” Lestrade asked. “John’s not stupid.”

“I know John’s not stupid,” Sherlock said, starting to feel angry for some reason.

“Sherlock, what is your problem then?”

“I don’t have a problem, just stop saying John is stupid,” Sherlock said. 

Lestrade was losing his patience. “Are you bored, Sherlock? Is that it? You solved your case too quickly and John’s too slow? Don’t be childish -- it’s the same case, you just worked on separate parts. You two are partners, don’t forget.”

“I know that,” Sherlock said. “I know what we are.”

“Then stop pestering me -- it’s very likely tonight we’ll have the breakthrough we need and Holmes and Watson will have solved the case. I can’t be dealing with this right now, Sherlock. Have some trust in John.”

“I do trust John,” Sherlock said quietly, but Lestrade had already hung up.

Sherlock looked around the flat and then up toward John’s bedroom door. He carried his tea up there, set the mug on the table, and lay down on John’s bed. He wasn’t sure why he was behaving like this, but being in here somehow made him feel less confused.

John stopped into the surgery again to pass the time. He saw a lot more patients than the day before -- he didn't have time to break for lunch and by the time the day was coming to a close he was starving. He thought about getting a snack for himself so he didn't over due it at dinner but then decided against it. He walked to the bookshop and sat in his usual seat to wait for her. It wasn't very long before she came out -- John's stomach was growling properly now. 

"Ready?" he smiled, standing to meet her.

She nodded. "I wanted to cook something for you. Do you mind coming to my place?"

John was thrown, but did his best to stay cool. Would this be safe? Would they be alone? But he couldn’t really insist they go to the restaurant he’d told the police they’d be. So he said, "Okay, sure."

They left the shop together and walked to her flat, talking about how busy the day had been for both of them -- John made up things to fill his day. When they arrived at the building, she led the way inside. She walked in first and John followed, shutting the door behind him. "This is a nice place," he said. He want to turn and take it all in, but suddenly his head exploded -- pain burst from the back of his head and before he could see what happened, he fell and everything went dark. 

Sherlock was staring at the clock. John hadn’t said what time this was all happening, and he couldn’t remember any details about the woman’s work schedule. Had John told him those and he’d been too distracted by these strange emotions to remember? He picked up his phone, wishing he could text but not wanting to risk anything. He didn’t even feel like he could call Lestrade again. His stomach felt sick. From now on, they should always work on cases together. In fact, in the future, they should always be together all the time so that Sherlock never had to experience this feeling again.

When John woke up, he forgot where he was for a moment. He had a headache, and when he tried to move he found himself tied up in a chair. He closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths and opened his eyes again, refocused. Amanda was sitting in front of him with a smirk while her boyfriend was pacing around the room. 

"John Watson," she said, leaning back comfortably. 

John didn't say anything, just looked around the room to memorise as many details as he could. 

"I recognised you,” she said. “From the very first day -- I knew it.”

"Shut up," the boyfriend snapped. 

"Oh please. He's not going anywhere anyway. I want him to know how stupid he was." She looked at John again. "I read your little stories on your blog -- I love a good mystery. I recognised you from the photos."

"Why did you keep talking to me?" John asked. 

"I just said I love a good mystery. What would John Watson -- and more likely Sherlock Holmes -- want with me?"

"Shut up and help me pack this stuff up,” the boyfriend said. “We have to get out of here."

She smirked and got up to help him. John tried to wiggle free from the ties. They had used zip ties for his hands and rope for his feet so there were slim chances of getting free.  

Back at the flat, Sherlock was seriously worried. It was getting dark and, besides the stupid note this morning, he hadn’t actually heard from John all day -- it could not be right. He picked up his phone again. He’d call. He prayed John would at least pick up -- if Sherlock was interrupting something, John could tell him he had the wrong number, but at least he’d hear John’s voice, which would be better than sitting here alone. He rang John’s number.

John's phone buzzed in his pocket, and his heart sped up even more. They looked over at him. Amanda came over and pulled the phone from his pocket. “It’s your boyfriend,” she said sarcastically.

"If he doesn't hear from me, he'll have the police here in minutes," John said. 

Amanda looked at the man, and he nodded. "On speaker. If you say anything about us, I'll kill you before you’ve finished the sentence." She answered and nodded to John.

"Hi Sherlock," John said, keeping his voice steady.

“Come home,” Sherlock said.

"I'm at the restaurant -- I can't talk for long. She's in the bathroom," he said. 

Sherlock was glad to hear John’s voice, but he didn’t feel better. “Just wrap it up quickly,” he said. “You’re needed here.”

"Mhmm. I'll try,” he said. “I’ll bring back my leftovers -- I've ordered your favourite." The boyfriend was waving his gun impatiently. "I have to go now."

Amanda hung up the phone and tossed it away before going back to packing.

“John!” Sherlock called but he’d hung up. He set his phone down. He actually felt more agitated than when he’d called. He moved to the kitchen for a cup of tea. His favourite? What was that comment about? John knew it’d just annoy Sherlock. Why was he trying to further upset him?

He stopped. Maybe he wasn’t trying to annoy Sherlock. Maybe he was trying to alert him. He moved over to the phone.

“Stop bothering me, Sherlock,” Lestrade said when he answered.

“Where was John going to dinner?” Sherlock said. He was already putting his coat on.

“Don’t, Sherlock. Leave him alone to work,” Lestrade said.

“Something’s wrong,” Sherlock said. “Tell me where he is.”

Lestrade recognised that voice. “What’s going on?” he asked, waving his hand to get the attention of one of his men.

“I spoke to him -- something’s gone wrong,” Sherlock said. He raised his hand for a taxi. “Where is he?”

“We’ve got eyes on the restaurant,” Lestrade said. Someone came into his office and shook his head. “Dammit,” he said.

“Tell me,” Sherlock said.

“He never showed up at the restaurant,” Lestrade said. “Where is he?”

“You’re in charge of this, not me,” Sherlock said. His heart was pounding. “The flat -- maybe she took him to their flat. Give me the address.”

“No,” Lestrade said, who was now heading out. “We’re going over. We’ll take care of it.”

“You can take care of it,” Sherlock said. “I will take care of John.” A taxi pulled up. “Give me the address.”

John watched them moving around the flat, packing drugs, money, and clothes. John needed a plan -- if no one showed up he needed to be ready to fight, tied to the chair or not.

Sherlock sat in the taxi, willing it to move through the streets more quickly. He felt afraid. He closed his eyes and thought of John. He hoped the police were on their way. “Hurry,” he said to them and to the driver.

"What are we doing with him?" Amanda asked. 

John was struggling harder now, wondering how much commotion he could cause in the chair to buy himself more time.  He tried to tip forward but the chair was heavy, his legs weren't low enough to hold him weight even if he did propel himself forward. 

"They don't have evidence on me, that's why they used him. He didn't even wear a wire," he smirked. "We get rid of him, no loose ends."

“Stop here,” Sherlock said to the driver. He threw him some money, and then ran the rest of the way, scanning the area. Lestrade saw him and came up to stop him. “They’re going in,” he said. “Stay out here -- let them do their job.”

Sherlock moved closer. He didn’t trust the cops but more importantly he didn’t trust this woman and her drug dealing boyfriend. He didn’t trust anyone except John.

Lestrade followed him, grabbing his arm to keep him still. “It won’t be long . . . wait,” he said.

Sherlock stared forward, watching the team get into place. Then one kicked the door open and the police rushed in. Sherlock broke away from Lestrade and followed.

The man and the woman dropped what was in their hands, but they had no where to go. The police grabbed and cuffed them immediately.

Sherlock pushed past the guy at the door and rushed over to John. He untied him and lifted him into a hug. “Thank God, you’re all right,” he said.

Everything happened too fast to process for John to process, yet it was like it happened in slow motion. He’d watched both of them pushed to the ground and cuffed, his hands were cut free from the zip ties, and Sherlock was at his feet removing the ropes. When his brain finally caught up, he was being pulled against Sherlock. “I’m sorry,” he said against Sherlock’s coat.

“It doesn’t matter . . .” Sherlock said. “Just -- don’t ever leave me.” He hadn’t let go and didn’t want to. Sherlock was oblivious to everything going on around them. “I love you,” he whispered. 

Lestrade came over. “John, you all right?” he asked.

John moved away slowly and nodded. 

"We need a statement," Greg said. 

John nodded again and followed him. He tugged Sherlock's hand so he would follow and he didn't let go.

Sherlock stood beside John as he spoke. He did not notice Lestrade’s strange looks. He was just listening to John’s voice which was making him feel so much better.

When John finished Greg let him leave. He wasn't injured, and he didn't want to be checked out. He just wanted to go home. He was still holding Sherlock's hand as they walked to the street.

Sherlock dropped John’s hand to raise his to get a taxi. When it arrived, he held the door open for John and then got in. He gave the driver their address. He felt like he had a lot to say, but he didn’t say anything.


	7. Comfort For Them Both

As they were hanging up their coats, John took a deep breath and turned to Sherlock. He held his gaze for a minute, stepped closer and kissed him hard. 

Sherlock pulled his head back in surprise. He sat down and put his head in his hands. “I hated your not being here,” he said quietly. “I need you to be here.” He looked over. “Why did you kiss me?”

"Because you said you loved me," he said, moving over to sit beside him. "And because I love you, too." He reached over and stroked Sherlock’s hair.

It felt good to Sherlock, but he was afraid to acknowledge it. He was trying to make it all make sense in his head. “But . . . what about . . . everything . . . ?” he asked.

"Everything what?" John asked. 

Sherlock looked at him. “Is this what you want?” he asked. “For us to be like this?”

John nodded. "Yes."

“Have you known it all along?”

"I don't know. . . but when I was there and you called and I heard you . . ." He trailed off and curled his fingers in Sherlock's hair. "Will you kiss me?”

Sherlock lifted his hands to the back of John’s head and pulled it toward him. He kissed his mouth softly, letting the kiss linger. “I need you in a way I didn’t think I would,” he said quietly.

John nodded. "I thought it was because of the case, the way you were acting . . . but I see now," he said. 

“Don’t leave me again,” Sherlock said, his voice barely a whisper.

John shook his head.

Sherlock sat back a little. “Are you all right though -- honestly?” he asked.

"Yes. I was only tied up, they didn't hurt me."

“Were you afraid?”

"Mostly towards the end," John admitted.

“You should have known I’d figure something out.”

"I hoped you’d understand, and you did, thank god. But I was ready to fight despite my chances."

“Don’t take chances,” Sherlock said. “At least . . . not without me.”

"Can we go lay down?" John asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “In your room.”

Sherlock took deep breaths as they walked upstairs. All of this seemed quite fast. He knew he’d been the one who’d started it and obviously it was all real and true -- none of this would have happened if it weren’t. But should John be going along with it? Everyone knew how backward Sherlock was with these things. Why was John going along with it?

Despite this doubt, though, going into John’s room holding John’s hand felt a million times better than sneaking up here on his own. Kissing John was brilliant. Just the thought popping into his mind made Sherlock take John into his arms and pull him onto the bed. He held onto him tightly, moving their bodies as close together as he could. “This is what I want all the time,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to ever not be this close.”

John curled into Sherlock's arms and nodded. "I wouldn't mind."

“What about the surgery?” Sherlock said. “It might be awkward.”

"What do you mean?" He asked.

“I mean I can’t really walk around pressed against you while you’re seeing patients,” Sherlock said. “Are you planning to quit?”

“I don’t think that will work,” John said. “We need the money.”

“I’m joking, John,” Sherlock said. “But maybe with the cases . . . let’s work together on those, yeah?”

John smiled. "Yes, for sure."

Sherlock pulled away a little and tried to get comfortable. “Are you going to go to sleep now?” he asked.

"Yes, I'm tired." He scooted closer. "Can we sleep close like this? Will you be comfortable?"

“Of course,” Sherlock said, tangling their legs. “At least I’ll try. Because I’m just glad you’re back.” He held onto his arm.

"Thank you, Sherlock," John said, smiling as he closed his eyes.

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could hear John breathing, feel his body against his, smell his scent. It felt comfortable -- like home. This was the best he’d felt in days. “Thank you,” he said as well as he felt himself relaxing into sleep.


	8. Partnership

In the morning John woke up tangled in Sherlock's arms. He took a moment there to get his head together, and then he shifted and moved away a bit. The adrenaline was gone now, and he looked over at Sherlock, biting his lip. It was a weird night. Sherlock had said that he loved John, and they slept together, but perhaps it was all just a reaction to the danger and the adrenaline he felt as well. He slowly got out of bed and went to the bathroom.

When Sherlock opened his eyes, the room was quiet. John was gone. He panicked for a moment, thinking John had gone off to work or maybe he was in danger again. He sat up and quickly went downstairs. Then he heard the toilet flush and relief came over him. He moved over to the kettle to turn it on.

"Hi," John said as he came out of the bathroom. 

“We slept in our clothes,” Sherlock said. He retrieved two mugs from the cupboard and set them on the table. 

"Yeah," he nodded. "Did you sleep okay?"

“I did,” Sherlock said, pouring the tea. “I’m well rested.” He took a sip even though it was too hot. “What are your plans for the day?”

"I don't have any. I just want to rest from yesterday," he said. "Have you got any plans?" 

“Of course not,” Sherlock said. He pushed the tea toward John. “You feeling all right about it? Do you need to talk?” He remembered John had said that to him after his own dangerous situation a few months ago.

John shook his head. "No. Um . . . what about the other thing. Do you want to talk about that?"

“No,” Sherlock said, shaking his head. “In truth, I never really heard back from them so we’ll have to find another case.”

"Um . . ." John said awkwardly. Sherlock was deliberately avoiding any discussion of what had occurred between them last night. "I'm going to get the paper,” he said, moving to the door.

“All right. Just -- don’t be long,” Sherlock said. He grabbed some clean clothes from his room and then moved into the bathroom to shower.

John grabbed the paper and came back up to the flat. The front page was the arrest of the drug dealer, so John sank into his chair to read it. 

Sherlock had just finished shaving and was getting dressed when he heard John come in. He emerged and saw John. He looked extremely handsome and Sherlock felt like kissing him, but he looked quite engrossed in whatever he was reading and he didn’t want to irritate him. 

John glanced over and smiled. "We're in the paper," he said. "Not by name."

“This time it was you, John,” Sherlock said. “You look proud. You should be.”

John shook his head. "I acted stupidly."

“You solved the case and you’re alive -- not stupid at all,” Sherlock said. “I suppose you’ll just have to admit you’re as recognisable as I am. Perhaps we should get you a hat?”

John smiled a little and stretched. His muscles ached a little.

Sherlock came in and sat on the sofa. “What’s the weather like? Perhaps we could take a walk later. I feel like I have more energy than I’ve had in a while.”

"Yeah, maybe," John said. 

Sherlock looked over. “Have you thought about taking a bath? The shower helped me, but a soak might be good for you.”

John shook his head. "Maybe a shower, though. I think that will help." He folded the paper and put it down. He grabbed his robe and paused on his way to the bathroom. He opened his mouth, then thought better of it. "Be back in a bit."

“All right,” Sherlock said. He watched him go. He got up to check his email. Still no new queries, which today felt all right. He just wanted to spend the day with John without any distractions from work.

John climbed into the shower and stood under the water for a long time. Sherlock didn't even want to talk about the night before. John must have been right that it was all the heat of the moment.

Sherlock walked up to John’s room and tidied up the bed. He wondered if they’d sleep in his room tonight. He went downstairs and lay down on his bed. He looked over at the pillow next to him, picturing John’s face there. It made his heart feel nice, but it was quite exciting as well. Maybe they could have an early night.

He closed his eyes and thought about kissing John last night. It was good. Then it dawned on him that they hadn’t kissed this morning. Why not? Had John changed his mind -- was it just because of the excitement of the danger? Oh God, Sherlock thought, sitting up. Was that what John had meant when he wanted to talk about “the other thing”? He got up and rushed to the bathroom, stepping inside. 

John swiped his hands over his face and then paused. "Hello?" He swore he heard the door open. He pulled the curtain enough to pop his head out. 

"John, it's me," Sherlock said.

"I . . . yes, I see you. What's wrong?" 

“Do we have to talk?”

"About what? Can it wait?" he asked.

“I don’t think so,” Sherlock said. “I’m confused.”

"Okay. Um . . . about what?" John asked over the water.

“About . . . why are you hiding behind the curtain? Come out.”

"I -- no, Sherlock, I'm taking a shower," he said.

Sherlock moved over closer to the shower. “I wasn’t lying,” he said.

"About what? If you give me just a second I can come out . . ." John said.

“About my feelings,” Sherlock said. “Come out, please.”

John shut off the water. "Can you give me my towel?" he asked. He poked his head out again.

Sherlock handed him a towel, leaning over to try to look at John’s nude body. “I wasn’t lying,” he repeated. He started to unbutton his shirt. “Were you?”

John wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out. "No. But I know we went through a lot and you might have meant . . . what are you doing?" he asked, noticing Sherlock's hands.

“I said what I meant,” Sherlock said. He let his shirt fall from his shoulders. He took a step toward John. He wrapped his arms around John’s damp body, pulling him close, pressing their chests together. He let his hands slide down John’s back to rest on his arse. He kissed John deeply. “This is what I want,” he said. “Do you?”

John nodded lifting his arms to touch Sherlock. "I thought I misunderstood," John admitted.

“I know I am confusing,” Sherlock said. “But I am not confused about what I want.” He pressed John’s hips against his own.

"Sherlock . . ." John moaned softly, looking up and trying to tug him down into a kiss.

Sherlock kissed John hungrily. “Let’s get into your bed again,” he said, pulling him as he led the way. In the bedroom, Sherlock stepped out of his trousers. Then he slowly pulled the towel exposing John’s nude body, looking quickly, before stepping in close. He rubbed his hands up and down John’s back as he kissed his mouth and then the warm, damp skin of his neck.

John laced his fingers into Sherlock's hair, trembling at the feel of Sherlock’s mouth. Then Sherlock grabbed one of John’s hands and led it to the waistband of his pants. Together, they pushed the material over his hips until his pants dropped to the floor. They stood together naked. Then Sherlock moved their hands to the front of his body, palming his hardening cock. 

"Oh," John breathed, wrapping his fingers around Sherlock's cock. He stroked slowly, tipping his head a bit to look down at it. 

“God, John,” Sherlock said. He let his hand find John’s cock and began stroking it. He too looked down to watch them touching each other.

John flushed lightly, looked up and kissed Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock kissed him back. “Let’s get on the bed,” he mumbled as he moved their bodies to the mattress.

John nodded, moving to climb up and get comfortable, watching Sherlock with a soft smile.

Sherlock lay down next to John, quickly reaching over to touch him as he kissed his mouth again. “It’s been a long time . . .” he said softly. “But I remember how to do all this. . .”

He pushed John on to his back and then shifted himself down the bed, straddling John’s legs. He looked down at John and smiled before leaning over to kiss him and continue stroking his cock.

John moaned softly, his hands moving over Sherlock's chest and torso. He grazed Sherlock's nipples, focusing there.

Sherlock, too, made a noise of pleasure. “Feels good,” he mumbled. “Everything . . . feels good.”

John nodded. "It does . . . I want more . . ."

“What do you want, John?” Sherlock said, lifting his head and looking directly into his eyes. “I want to give you what you want.”

John held his gaze. "I want you," he said. "I want to feel you everywhere..."

Sherlock shifted slightly before lifting his hand and slicking it with his tongue. He went back to stroking John with a firmer, faster hand. “I want to make you come,’ he said, his breath starting to change.

John reached to stroke Sherlock’s cock. "I want this . . .” he mumbled.

Sherlock was pretty sure he knew what that meant. He moved down John’s body, licking his fingers and letting them explore between John’s legs. “This all right?”

John nodded. "I have stuff in my drawer," he offered. 

Sherlock reached for the drawer and looked in. There was some tissues, lube, and condoms, which he’d have found quite intriguing had he discovered them last week, but today he just felt grateful. He spilled some lube into his hand, stroked John’s cock a few times, and then went back to his exploration. He leaned down and began covering John’s chest with kisses.

John arched against his mouth, fingers lacing into Sherlock's hair and tugging softly. 

Despite the fact that it’d been a very long time since he’d done this, Sherlock’s body took over and directed him. He gently pumped his fingers, stretching John. He loved the reactions John’s body was having, barely noticing that his own hips were rocking gently with each movement of his hand.

"God, Sherlock . . . it's so good . . .you feel so good . . ." 

Sherlock looked up. “Ready?” he said, sliding his fingers from John’s body and reaching for a condom.

John nodded, opening his legs a bit more. "Kiss me again . . .”

Sherlock leaned over and kissed John’s mouth. Then he pushed himself back up, rolled on the condom and lined up, before slowly and carefully pushing inside. “God,” he exhaled instinctively. Then he looked at John. “Okay?”

John nodded before closing his eyes, focusing on every inch of Sherlock moving into his body. It was perfect. He looped his hands around Sherlock's neck and then slid them down over his shoulders and back.

Sherlock steadied himself and leaned down and kissed John again. Then he dropped his head to the side and began to slowly roll his body, pushing deeper as he rocked against the bed.

John gripped Sherlock's hair and turned his head so his face pressed into Sherlock. It was perfect. "Just like that . . .” he exhaled.

Sherlock kept the rhythm steady, though he knew he was teetering on the edge of exploding. “John,” he said, just because it was the name of all the best feelings in the world.

John reached down to stroke himself. "I'm getting close . . .”

Sherlock let his hips go a little. Noises came from his throat, and he could feel his whole body tighten as he jerked and came with one last thrust.

"Oh!" John called out, stroking until he followed Sherlock over the edge.

Sherlock let their bodies still. He lifted his head and kissed John’s mouth. “Okay?” he whispered.

"Perfect . . . yes," he breathed.

“It’s true . . .” Sherlock said. “It’s what I feel . . . love.”

John carded his fingers in Sherlock's hair again. "Me too."

Sherlock shifted and got rid of the condom and then lay down next to John. “You know . . . we live with each other . . . we could do this kind of thing on a regular basis . . .” He looked over. “What do you think?”

John grinned. "Are you kidding? I'm about to take a few days off for more."

“Good,” Sherlock said. “I liked it.” He looked back up at the ceiling. “And you won’t do it with anyone else?”

"Only you."

“Good,” Sherlock said. “Only you too . . . obviously.” He reached over and held John’s hand.

They lay quietly for a few minutes, and then Sherlock heard his phone ring. He reached down and grabbed it from his trouser pocket. “It’s Lestrade,” he said. “What should I do?”

“Answer it,” John said simply.

“Yes?” Sherlock said.

“I think we’ve got a case for you,” Lestrade said. “Poison -- your specialty.”

“All right,” Sherlock said.

“Is John there? Is he doing all right?”

“Yes, John’s here,” Sherlock said. “Yes, he’s all right.”

“Is something wrong, Sherlock? Your voice sounds strange -- you two aren’t fighting, are you?”

Sherlock smiled. “No, we’re not fighting.” He turned to John and held the phone in the air. “Can you assure him we’re not fighting?”

“We are most definitely not fighting!” John called, laughing a little. He draped a leg over Sherlock and whispered, “Get rid of him.”

“Listen,” Sherlock said to Lestrade. “We are interested in the case -- can we come in tomorrow for the details? We’re . . . busy right now.”

“All right,” Lestrade said, a bit confused. “Can I ask what you’re doing that is more important to you than a case?”

“We’re strengthening our partnership,” Sherlock said and he and John both laughed like neither had for days.


End file.
